


Defeat

by Mierke



Category: Nashville (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3554720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mierke/pseuds/Mierke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn't have the energy to be mad. She just feels defeated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defeat

**Author's Note:**

> Set during _Your Good Girl's Gonna Go Bad_ (2.20)

Scarlett curls in on herself, stares at the walls, hides under the covers. She doesn't think, doesn't want to think. But when night starts to fall, she huddles on the chair by the window, looking out over all the people walking outside. She doesn't even feel connected to the rest of the world anymore, as if these walls keep her locked in and everyone at bay. The coming darkness feels nice, like a blanket the world is folding over her to protect her and keep her safe.

She wants to be angry. She wants to be angry at Gunnar (she never wanted to perform, she just wanted to write); she wants to be angry at Rayna (she wasn't ready for a tour, she just wanted to record an album); she wants to be angry at Liam (she didn't want to expose herself, she just wanted to sing). But she doesn't have the energy to be mad. She just feels defeated.

The mental institution claws at her, dragging her down and bringing all kinds of memories with it. People were in and out all day and she talked to them (she knows what is expected), but she still feels like an outsider, a ghost in a world full of talented, beautiful people, a world she got to taste for a while, a world that has spit her out.

She fights the urge to write out her feelings (she isn't a songwriter, not anymore); she tried, before, and her fingers were shaking so hard that she couldn't even hold a pen, her tears streaming so loud that she couldn't hear her own thoughts or the music that had to be playing in her head. So she stopped, and now her fingers play a restless melody on the window ledge that she can't hear.

The Nashville lights twinkle at her, mocking her with all the possibilities it holds, the possibilities she'll never get to touch again. It's exhaustion that eventually drags her back to bed, the emptiness inside her making it easy to give herself over to the darkness and fade away into sleep.


End file.
